orderly, and the
rearguard could be trusted to follow its time-table.

Hence, before it was dark, Dalroy determined to cover the sixteen miles
to Zeebrugge. The Hospital, which was convoying British and Belgian
wounded, would travel thence by the quaint steam-tramway which links up
the towns on the littoral. It might experience almost insuperable
difficulties at Zeebrugge or Ostend, and he was one of the few aware of
the actual time-limit at disposal, while a field hospital bereft of
transport is a peculiarly impotent organisation.

Road and rail ran almost parallel among the sand dunes. At various
crossings he could ascertain whether or not any train had passed
recently in the direction of Ostend, thus making assurance doubly sure,
though the station-master at the town terminus was positive that the
next tram would not arrive until half-past seven. Dalroy meant
intercepting that tram at Blankenberge.

Naturally, the train was late in reaching the latter place, but the only
practicable course was to wait there, rather than risk missing it. A
crowd of terrified people gathered around the calm-eyed, quiet-mannered
Briton, and appealed for advice. Poor creatures! they imposed a cruel
dilemma. On the one hand, it was monstrous to send a whole community
flying for their lives along the Ostend road; on the other, he had
witnessed the fate of Vise and Huy. Yet, by remaining in their homes,
they had some prospect of life and ultimate liberty, while their lot
would be far worse the instant they were plunged into the panic and
miseries of Ostend. So he comforted the unhappy folk as best he might,
though his heart was wrung with pity at sight of the common faith
in the Red Cross brassard. Men, women, and children wore the badge
indiscriminately. They regarded it as a shield against the Uhlan's
lance! Most fortunately for that strip of Belgium, the policy of
"frightfulness" was moderated once the country was overrun. So far as
local occurrences have been permitted to become known, the coast towns
have been spared the fate of those in the interior.

To Dalroy's great relief, the incoming tram from Zeebrugge brought the
British hospital. There were four doctors, eight nurses, and fifty-three
wounded men, including a sergeant and ten privates of the Gordon
Highlanders, who, like Bates, Smithy, and the rest, had scrambled across
Belgium after Mons.

The train offered an extraordinary spectacle. Soldiers and civilians
were packed